


A Dance 'Round the Memory Tree

by geeksthetics



Series: Narnia Song Fics [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geeksthetics/pseuds/geeksthetics
Summary: Every day, as the others share anecdotes, she only thinks of regrets. As the others remember their deceased families fondly, she only sobs. As the others try to relive their glory days, she scoffs at herself and chides herself for not having done differently. She wants to rewind the clock, she wants things to have gone differently. These people only serve to remind her of that wish.Day in and day out she only thinks of them and that horrid place they’d created as children.





	A Dance 'Round the Memory Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quecksilver_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/gifts).



> the title is the same as the song that's on the prince caspian film soundtrack by oren lavie. recommend listening to it while reading the fic.

The piano drones a monotonous tune as Doris plays the only song she remembered from her youth. She used to be a famous pianist for the London Symphony Orchestra. That was before arthritis caught up to her. Now she plays each song one slow keystroke at a time.

Frances and Raymond stand with arms intertwined as they sway in their own form of dancing. The two have been in love since their early years of dancing jitterbugs where they’d met at a university party where the end of World War II had been celebrated by some of the local youths. That was then. Now they have two metal hips, four prosthesis, and a walker between the two of the them.

Shirley stares on as more couples join the makeshift dance floor. Dementia has hit the older woman of the 1920’s with a vengeance but a stubborn spark of intelligence still lights her watery grey eyes. Those that notice that spark wonder if she’s thinking back to those years spent in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force where she had reached the rank of Air Commandant or of the many children she had none, of whom ever visit her.

Those in the small Finchley nursing home are gathered in the great room where the piano sits. They dance and laugh and speak of their youth as if it had occurred yesterday and not decades ago. Whether senile or of the soundest of mind, they enjoy their time in the great room where they’re able to mingle with each other.

All except Susan.

She stares at the room. Nurses avoid her sharp gaze as she assesses them and the other elderly folks. Susan watches them all as they hobble along speaking with vocal cords that are ready to give in at any moment. The grandeur in which they speak of their youth as if they had lived like royalty disgusts her. She despises the assisted living facility. It only serves to remind her of her past mistakes.

Every day, as the others share anecdotes, she only thinks of regrets. As the others remember their deceased families fondly, she only sobs. As the others try to relive their glory days, she scoffs at herself and chides herself for not having done differently. She wants to rewind the clock, she wants things to have gone differently. These people only serve to remind her of that wish.

Day in and day out she only thinks of them and that horrid place they’d created as children.

Susan despises Narnia, she despises her siblings, most of all she despises her inability to forgive herself for her wrongdoings. She wants to move on, she wants to think of her siblings and that magical land they had created with fondness. Yet all she feels is bitterness and hatred. Bitterness that her family had to be wrenched right out of her fingers. Hatred that she was not taken with them.

A slight breeze picks up and she wonders if Lloyd had opened the window once again. The breeze grows stronger until it is a gust of wind that rolls her wheelchair closer to the other residents – or rather, what used to be the residents.

The painful tapping of ivory keys becomes a complex set of strokes as beautiful music comes from the great instrument. The dancers become younger as the men skillfully avoid the women’s large skirts while perfectly executing the steps to the waltz. Rays from the setting sun light the ballroom, the pinks and purples and reds turning the gilded walls and sconces to a lovely goldenrod. Servants begin to light candles, bathing everyone in a comforting warmth. The scent of cherry blossoms wafts through the air as the dryads join in the revelry. Hooves clack against the ballroom as they circle the image of a stately lion depicted in the tiles. Waves crash against the shore that lay near the castle.

 _Cair Paravel_.

Susan knew it was the old castle. She had loved it so. She had called it home from the moment she had set her eyes on it.

She remembers this night in particular so vividly. It had been a night she had personally arranged for the Prince Rabadash of Calormen. The night was been jolly as the Prince had been so charming that night, months before he had shown his true self to her and her Narnian entourage. She danced so much that night, she only left the dance floor once to rest her feet.

She remembers her siblings too.

Peter was chatting with the dignitaries and Narnian civilians alike, dancing every once in a while with the wife of a noble or other. They always pressed themselves a tad too closely to Peter, forcing him to end dances halfway with the excuse of seeing someone he _must_ speak to. Susan knew those women only saw the High King, not her dork-ish older brother who tended to sleep through council meetings as he’d spent the previous night pouring over a book Lucy had recommended he read.

Lucy danced with anyone and everyone. She was a whirlwind as she spun and spun and spun, her skirts flying over her knees, her laughter seeming to fill the room and brighten the nights of all within her vicinity. Lucy had always been a free spirit. She loved to dance the reels, she loved to race through the forest on the back of her stead, she loved to run through the beach still in her ballgowns as she was followed by the children of Narnia. Her temperament always followed closely, hot on her heels.

Edmund had shared a few dances, only those with the kinder, less abrasive noblewomen, out of politeness. Susan had always smiled whenever her younger brother danced because he did it with such a straight back, arms held out stiffly, his need to count the steps to the dances obvious in his nervous demeanor. He was much more confident when he sat in his office with a quill and official papers in his hands. Susan admits that while he would always remain more awkward in his socialization, he had grown into a man in a short amount of time.

Tears begin to blur Susan’s vision. Acrimony replaces the thrill that had filled her heart mere moments ago. She wants none of these memories. She wants to remove them from her mind and never have to be tortured with them again.

“There is no need for your animosity, Susan,” a deep voice rumbles. It feels as if while it spoke, all of creation trembles slightly. “You can always return. You must only open your heart back up to Me.”

Susan bites her lip and shakes her head. She has the capability to. She can always learn to forgive herself, to forgive her siblings, to forgive Aslan.

Nevertheless she refuses.

She is no masochist but she refuses.

All because she thinks herself unworthy. She thinks herself unworthy after years of belittling her siblings for what she wanted to believe were silly made-up stories of a fictitious world they’d created. She thinks herself unworthy after decades of struggling to have the same blind faith that Lucy carried until her last breath. She feels unworthy of being happy, of being loved, of being forgiven.

“Very well,” the voice concedes. “Only know, that I am with you no matter what and I will always help guide you back home, only if you so choose to let Me.”

That same gust of air that rolled her toward the ballroom now rolls her away as the image of a wonderful night fades.

Doris is still playing. Frances and Raymond sit as Raymond complains over knee pains. A nurse replaces Shirley’s IV with a fresh one. Lloyd hobbles over to the windows and with the help of Warren and Curtis they allow for fresh air to blow through the stuffy room. Ida shrills, “Checkmate!” as she topples Alvin’s king. Darlene and Constance cheer for her. Milton yammers loudly as he tells an embarrassing anecdote about his wife to a scandalized Agnes and Manuel. It is as if nothing had changed, as if Susan had not just relived a moment of her past.

Susan turns her back and rolls her wheelchair away.


End file.
